If You Ever Come Back
by V Machine on Paper
Summary: Sonfic. Based on the fact that Katniss misses Peeta  he doesn't return to 12 after the war  Slightly fluffy :


_**AN (Yes I hate reading these too but this note is VITAL!)**: Hi guys, this is my first Hunger Games FanFic and SongFic but I'm really excited to be writing this one. I'm using one of my favourite songs of all time by my favourite band of all time, **If You Ever Come Back by The Script**. It's a sad and beautiful song, look the song and the lyrics up on YouTube, you won't be disappointed!_

_So, this is basically the end of Mockingjay but Peeta hasn't returned from District Thirteen yet. This is a FanFic about Katniss wishing Peeta could come back. I've made it so Peeta is in District Two with Gale because he doesn't know if he loves Katniss or not anymore (GASP!)._

_PS. This fic, like most SongFics isn't supposed to leave you on a cliff hanger or have a deep plot like the original one in HG. This SongFic is just supposed to make you look at the situation in a different way_

_Sooooooooooooo…WITHOUT FURTHER ADO (he he ado is a funny word ) I GIVE YOU….**IF YOU EVER COME BACK!**_

* * *

><p>I look at the letter. I don't know whether to be happy or to start crying. I go through it one more time in my mind;<p>

Katniss,

I'm in District Two with your friend Gale. I don't know if I'm coming back. When I was hijacked with the tracker jacker venom some memories came to the surface about me and you and I didn't know if they were real or fake. But if these memories about you are true, then I can't come back to District Twelve. I'm still making up my mind as to whether I should come back or not. I just need time to figure a few things out for myself.

Don't worry about me, I hope you're okay. I just need to figure things out.

Peeta.

Of course I'm happy Peeta got out of Thirteen, happy that he's safe but what about these memories of me? What are they? Are they real or not real? What if I actually _have_ done something really bad? I shake my head. Peeta needs to make his own decisions about this.

But the truth is, I miss him. A lot. I've been taking care of his house next to mine to give him a pleasent surprise when he comes back. If he comes back that is. Because now I know that the boy with the bread might not be coming back. I want to write a letter back to Peeta but what what will I say? He has been gone for almost a month now.

I walk out of my house and toward his. I take the letter with me. For some reason I feel like I need to. Everyday since he hasn't come back I have been taking care of his house, trying to make it look loved even in it's owner's absence.

As I wander into Peeta's spotless kitchen, the aroma of freshly baked bread hits me. For an insane second I think it's Peeta, he has returned and is making cheese buns, my favourite. Then I realise it's just a lingering smell from before. Peeta isn't here with me.

The kitchen counter has a fine layer of dust accumilating on it, as I didn't clean it yesterday. I dig through the cupboards and find a rag. I wet it, wring it out and swipe it over the dusty counter. Here, the smell of cheese buns is stronger and I lick my lips hungrily. How I wish I could get my hands on a nice cheese bun! But I realise that it's not the cheese buns I want. It's the person who makes them. Peeta. I clench my hands into fists and will myself not to cry. Giving the counter up as a bad job, I place the rag in the sink and remind myself to clean it later.

Before I know it, I am flopping down on one of Peeta's squishy orange couches. Orange. Not bright orange, but softer. Like the sunset. The burning sensation behind my eyes that anticipates crying has started again so I just squeeze them shut. I think of Peeta, who is still deciding whether to come back to Twelve. The boy with the bread. The one who gave my beautiful iridescent pearl, which is locked away safely in my special box at my home. Maybe he is still puzzled as to whether I am a mutt or not. I squeeze my eyes tighter still, wanting to send him a telepathic message. Wanting him to know that I was thinking of him at this very moment.

That these days I am having more nightmares then ever. Ever since I found out Madge was killed and I now don't have to comfort of his strong, yet gentle arms to calm me. To remind me that I am safe and unharmed in my bed.

_If you're standin with your suitcase,_

_But you can't step on the train,_

_Everything's the way that you left it,_

_I still haven't slept yet._

The first tear begins to roll down my cheek.

_If you're coverin your face now,_

_But you just can't hide the pain,_

_Still setting two plates on the counter,_

_but eatin with ya._

He's not coming back.

_And if you're_ _out there tryin to move on,_

_But something pulls you abck again,_

_I'm sitting here trying to persuade you,_

_Like you're in the same room._

_Even if wishin is a waste of time..._

_Even if I never cross your mind..._

The boy with the bread isn't coming back.

_I'll leave the door on the latch,_

_If you ever come back,_

_And they'll be a light in the hall,_

_And a key under the mat._

_If you ever come back._

_And they'll be a smile on my face and the kettle on,_

_And it'll be just like you were never gone,_

_I'll leave the light in the hall,_

_And the key under the mat,_

_If you ever come back..._

_If you ever come back now..._

I walk upstairs to his bedroom. His bedsheets are soft orange like his couches, except this one has beautiful intricate designs of autumn leaves on it. There's a small photo on top of the dresser next to his bed.

It's a photo of Peeta with his father. They are sitting in the meadow together. Peeta must be quite young here. He looks about ten, or eleven. Around the time we first met. The boy with the bread. Peeta and Mr. Mellark are astonishing alike. Both have soft blonde curls, even though Mr Mellark's hair has a small amount of grey streaks, and both have the same friendly blue eyes. The eyes I miss so much. There's another photo next to the one of Peeta and his father. The second photo is of his mother. She has unfriendly black eyes and isn't with her son in the photo. It's just her against a dull grey backdrop.

Her features are very angular with eye cheekbones and large, dark eyes. She looks nothing like her kind son and husband.

_And they say I'm wastin my time,_

_Cause you're never comin home,_

_But they used to say the world was flat,_

_And how wrong was that now?_

_And I wish you could give me the cold shoulder,_

_And I wish you could could still give me a hard time._

_And I wish I could still wish it was over,_

_But even if wishin is a waste of time,_

_Even if I never cross your mind..._

I go downstairs and wash the rag. The small amount of dust it has collected washes of easily under the cool, running water.

_I'll leave the door on the latch,_

_If you ever come back,_

_And they'll be a light in the hall,_

_And a key under the mat._

_If you ever come back._

_And they'll be a smile on my face and the kettle on,_

_And it'll be like you were never gone._

_I'll leave the light in the hall,_

_And a key under the mat,_

_If you ever come back,_

_If you ever come back now._

Abandonning my attempts of cleaning Peeta's house for today, I trudge down the stairs. My face still feels hot from the crying. But as soon as I step outside in the cool wind I begin to feel better.

I pass Haymitch's house and decide to visit him, just to make sure he hasn't broken anything on a drunken rampage. But before I even ring the doorbell, he opens up. "Not suprised you came here, sweetheart. You must've heard." he says in a wobbly, slightly drunk voice.

"Huh? What? I didn't hear anything. What's going on? Has something bad happened?" But Haymitch just chuckles in a maniacal sort of way and gestures for me to come inside.

When I step in, all I see is Haymitch's living room. Looking dirty, and battered up like it always has been.

"Ummm...what exactly did you want me to see..?" My voice trails off awkwardly. Haymitch just laughs drunkedly. "In the kitchen! The kitchen!" he booms. Not knowing whether this is a joke or not, I step cautiously into Haymitch's dusty old kitchen. My mouth instantly drops open. Peeta's letter that I am holding right now flutters out of my slack fingers.

Next to the kitchen bench, sporting a modest smile and a twinkle in his eyes is _Peeta._ I swear under my breath.

"Unacceptable language, Everdeen," he jokes lightly. I'm so shocked I can't even move. I don't have to. Peeta pulls me into his strong, gentle arms. The arms that I have been missing for so long. "The letter..." I begin.

"I wrote that all the way back in Thirteen. I had meant to just leave with your stuff so you would see it later but some doofus actually sent it back to you."

"But then why didn't you come back straight after the war?"

"Dr. Aurealis wanted me to stay put just to make sure I still didn't have homicidual urges," he grins slightly.

"I missed you," is all I can say.

"Missed you too," Peeta murmurs.

Before I know what I am doing I close the distance between our lips. And I feel that hunger that I felt on the beach in the Quarter Quell. Suddenly I feel Peeta deepen the kiss and my hands run through his blonde curls.

Finally we both have to come up for air, but we are still wrapped tightly around each other. I lean my forehead in against his and he strokes my hair gently. And I remember what Peeta said, the evening before we were about to go into our second Games. "I wish I could just freeze this moment, and live in it forever." I smile to myself. Nothing can get better then this moment.

_And it will be just like you were never gone,_

_And it will be just like you were never gone,_

_If you ever come back,_

_If you ever come back now..._


End file.
